Death
by WolfPilot06
Summary: For a long time, Tsuzuki has wondered exactly what the purpose of the Shinigami is. Now, though, he thinks he has the answer. He can see it in Hisoka's wide, blank eyes.


**Title:** Death

**Author:** WolfPilot06

**Pairings:** None, really, but slight Tsu/His

**Category:** Deathfic, rambling, slightly off-his-rocker Tsuzuki, angst

**Notes:** This originally sprang from the idea that Tsuzuki sees some kind of truth in Hisoka's eyes, and somehow - I really don't know how - evolved into this strange thing. *pokes it* I'm really out of sync with writing. @.@ Oh, and it's unedited/unbetaed, and I switched tenses halfway through and tried to rectify it, and it kind of oscillates between this and that and blah blah blah and yeah, I think I'll just let you read the fic now. *coughs*

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For a long time, Tsuzuki has wondered exactly what the purpose of the Shinigami is.

If asked by any mortal or ignorant person, Tsuzuki will recite the rote definition given in the Shinigami handbook - or, truly, the unwritten, unspoken rules that define the Shinigamis' existence.  The Shinigami are the mediums between life and death - they escort souls to the afterlife, take care of troublesome, murdering creatures, and do their best to maintain the order of the bureaucracy of EnmaDaioh.  But for all that these unstated descriptions fit the Shinigami and what they do, it always plagues Tsuzuki to wonder why they, those bound to the world by some lingering attachment or another, are the ones charged with transporting souls and investigating Kiseki-related matters.  One might argue, of course, that it is because they are dedicated to the world to carry out their jobs well and with loyalty – on the other hand, one might think that such awesome power really ought to be held in the hands of those sane enough to use it well.  Tsuzuki knows that he and the others – Watari, Tatsumi, Hisoka, even Wakaba – aren't exactly the epitomes of sanity and reason.  No matter how much he has thought about it during his seventy years as a Shinigami, he hasn't been able to come up with a plausible explanation for why they are the ones chosen to carry out this task.

Now, though, he thinks he has the answer.  He can see it in Hisoka's wide, blank eyes, reflecting the overcast sky in dulled green glass set in marble.  Unnecessarily, his hand smoothes over blood-soaked blond tresses, feeling the clots and tangles under his fingers like so many rows of unintelligible Braille, a meaning hidden in the matted silk but unknown to him.  

Shinigami aren't invincible, he reflects, as much as their immortality allows them to revel in the idea.  For all their regenerative powers and uncanny ability to bounce back from tragedy after tragedy, there is a certain limit to how much a Shinigami can take before he or she breaks.  He'd seen it often enough during the years.  Gradually, the monotony of life took the alertness, the dedication from his coworkers' eyes, until the novelty of an eternal life disappeared and was replaced by the harsh reality of an endless existence.  He himself had experienced it, but he had been different in that he still had a bit of hope that something new might appear on the horizon.  The others had not.  Some had resigned and passed on.  Some had gone insane in a fit of mad power and caused incredible damage to the ever-lasting land of Meifu before they were brought down by their former comrades.  Still others had simply been tired, too dulled by the ceaseless procession of days, and had failed to dodge that one fatal blow…

Hisoka looks as though he is sleeping.  Although his eyes are opened in shock, his face is otherwise peaceful, if a bit pale.  If only his eyes were closed, Tsuzuki might think he looked tranquil. As it is, the gaping hole that had once been the youth's torso leaves little to the imagination as to why he is lying there, still and broken like the doll a silver-haired man had once attested him to be.  

Tsuzuki wonders that he should be so calm.  

In the end, Tsuzuki's faint bit of hope had proven valid, his "something new on the horizon" appearing in the form of an acerbic young man, still gangly with all the awkwardness and coltish grace of adolescence, who turned up in his life like a natural disaster.  Life had never been uninteresting with Hisoka around, Tsuzuki muses, even during the still, boring hours in the office, when there had been little to do other than to listen to Watari cackle about his newest invention – Jason-kun, or Erika-chan, or whatever strange and oddly Western name he anointed his latest creation with and appended an honorific to – or to plot new ways to skip the staff meetings Tatsumi seemed to be so fond of calling.  Hisoka was his own little bundle of puzzles and mysteries, like a ball of tangled yarn, and Tsuzuki liked nothing more than to while away the hours picking at his partner, gently coaxing out first one thread, and then another.  It was his hope that one day he might pull that one magical string that would make the entire mess fall apart to lay open before him, and he would gently pick up the threads and wrap them lovingly together, until at last, the entire amalgamation of fear and strength and untapped potential that was Hisoka was safe and untangled in his protection.  Occasionally, of course, he'd tangle a string that had already been pulled out; it was inevitable that while some progress was made, past accomplishments were unmade.  Something along the lines of "take one step forward, take two steps back".  It was unavoidable, a part of life and death that he had long learned to accept, and despite the seeming impossibility of accomplishing his self-set goal to untangle Hisoka, he was nonetheless determined to achieve it.

It is ironic, Tsuzuki realizes, that he should be able to cry at will to beg a Cinnabon or piece of cake off of Tatsumi, and that he can weep over the deaths of strangers, but that he cannot mourn his own partner.  Hisoka is light in his arms, although the lack of a good half of his body might attest to his seeming weightlessness.  Tsuzuki brushes the back of his hand against Hisoka's cheek and marvels at how cold the flesh seems.  He had always imagined Hisoka's face to be soft to the touch, firm and warm beneath his fingers, pink with the blush he knew would inevitably be caused by such a bold movement on his part.  He'd spent many hours daydreaming about simply reaching forward to caress his young partner's face and hair, tracing his fingers along baby-soft cheekbones and running them through tresses of gilded sunlight as fine and fluffy as cotton candy, if a bit stringier.  Rather distractedly, Tsuzuki realizes that he's really bad at coming up with metaphors, and wonders if it isn't because Hisoka is lying dead in his lap.    

Oh.  That's right. Hisoka is dead.

Tsuzuki wonders why he doesn't feel as much grief as he should.  It had been so sudden.  The demon hadn't uttered any cheesy, dramatic lines before it had attacked.  It had been a short, violent rending of flesh with claws and teeth sharp and strong enough to crunch through bones.  Hisoka hadn't even had time to cry out before he was down.  Tsuzuki vaguely considers the possibility that he might be in shock.  It sounds rather rational, but his numbed mind isn't really entertaining rationality at the moment.

He thinks that maybe the reason he isn't upset is because he knows Hisoka will heal.  Give him a day, and Hisoka will be awake and scolding him for being an idiot in no time.  After all, he did recover from Tsuzuki chopping him up into itty-bitty bite-sized pieces with a meat cleaver that one time.  Surely he can recover from a little abdominal wound.  Okay, so the serious lack of internal organs might prove to be a bit of an obstacle – at least Tsuzuki hadn't felt the need to eat Hisoka when he had been possessed by Saaganatsu – but he's sure that Hisoka's lauded protective and healing powers should kick in soon.  He can already see the flesh mending and coming together, albeit slowly, although it might just be the blood congealing.  At least Hisoka's stopped bleeding.  The ground all around is stained a deep crimson, and maybe it's because Hisoka's run out of blood to gush upon the ground, but…it's a start, right?   

Right?

Tsuzuki will wait by his side.  He fully expects either Watari or Tatsumi to pop up any moment soon and whisk them off to the infirmary.  He's fine, but he's rather sure that Hisoka needs some tending to.  After all, there's an entire backlog of cases to take care of, and if Hisoka doesn't get well soon, Tatsumi will not be a happy man.

Somewhere in his haze of confusing thoughts, Tsuzuki remembers that he's realized the real purpose of the Shinigami.  They're here to die.  Of course, they've already died once, but they've stayed on to "live" again.  Obviously, if one lives, one must die.  The Shinigami are the ones with this job because of their willingness to die twice.  That's it.  They're willing to take hits over and over again, and they'll keep dragging themselves to their feet because of their "attachment" to the living, and one day they'll fall and not get up.  Then it's all "call in the mariachi band, we've got a new Shinigami!" Tsuzuki almost laughs and looks at Hisoka, expecting Hisoka to smack him for thinking such thoughts.  But Hisoka is still in his arms, and his eyes are no clearer or more vibrant than before.

Tsuzuki has the uncharitable thought that Hisoka is doing this deliberately to make him worry.  

Tsuzuki wants Hisoka to wake up.  He wants to tell his young partner about his epiphany and see what he thinks about it.  He wants to treat Hisoka to an ice cream cone and watch as his young partner wonderingly stares at the treat before taking it from his hand with a quiet "thank you".    He wants to take a walk in the park with Hisoka and simply watch as the youth looks at the birds and the trees and the children running by – he wants to look at Hisoka's sleeping face – he wants to listen to Hisoka assure him that he's human - Tsuzuki just wants Hisoka to wake up.  That's all.  He will, Tsuzuki knows, but he just has to be patient.  Patience is something he's been working on lately, what with Hisoka's influence and all.  He can wait.

Really, he can.

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Owari

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C&C are much appreciated, as always. ^_^

**Wolf**


End file.
